


Shotgun Crossroads

by spidertroll



Category: Saw (2004)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidertroll/pseuds/spidertroll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I cannot thank Dizmo enough for her work as a hippo. She most certainly saved me from a whole lot of stress by helping me polish this piece so that it may glisten wondrously for your reading pleasure. You rock my socks! Also, a big thank you goes out to my good friend, Laura for adding in her thoughts. You are awesomesauce, banana buddy!</p></blockquote>





	Shotgun Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Croik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/gifts).



Staring down the barrel of a gun. Not once did Mark Hoffman ever think to give a grain of salt to the saying that was "staring down the barrel of a gun"... not until the words turned into a reality.

Waking up was nothing like a cold bucket of water to the face, nothing that would cause him to panic and scream and ask the same futile questions victims usually cried to their captors. No, he would keep his calm. No matter who it was that would go so far as to try to intimidate him in such a way, they would never get the satisfaction of a panicked response from him. After all, he was a rational man.

Well, rational enough, despite the fear that slowly came over him when he realized the identity of his captor. He knew those eyes, though he never imagined the feeling of being trapped in the man's cold gaze. Calm as it was, the gaze was chilling. It peered at him almost as though he was something to be reviled.

"You know why you're here, don't you?"

Of course he did. After all, John Kramer was the one person Hoffman knew all about. He was the sadistic old man he had spent months studying, looking over every grisly death that Kramer had been responsible for, to a degree. He knew that the technicality in the Jigsaw killings was that each victim had an opportunity to free themselves and that John hadn't murdered them directly.

Despite the series of horrendous killings produced by this "Jigsaw Killer", indirect murder was considered a technicality.

Hoffman hated technicalities.

After all, it had been a technicality in the legal system that allowed Seth Baxter to go free. For five years, this man had served time in prison for the brutal murder of Angelina Acomb, who just so happened to be Hoffman's younger sister. If she hadn't been the only form of solidarity in his life, she sure as hell had been the only form of happiness. In some instances, she had become a bastion for any emotion that came close to love for Hoffman. It was certainly hard to find amidst the sea of apathy and emotional detachment that was working in homicide, a mental state that was generally encouraged due to the nature of their work.

However, there had been no emotional detachment the day he learned of her murder. He never once considered the shocked looks of those who had seen him fly into rage at seeing her throat slit, cold blood spilled, her body sprawled out and hanging limp, eyes showing nothing but the placid stare of death. Those at the scene always saw Hoffman as the detective who kept his calm in a situation, no matter how bad it got. He was the person who would talk sense into everyone when they were losing their wits. He was the type to calculate the possibilities of a situation and predict the outcome by knowing the facts, not someone who would thrash about, growling at the top of his voice; not someone who had a cold and hateful look in his eyes, as if something had snapped inside of him.

Something had, really. She was the only thing he had. She was the only human being he could ever come close to considering a "good person". She was the last person on Earth that deserved this. Anyone who caused her harm would always answer to Hoffman, and answer they always did. That was why he risked finding himself in the hands of John Kramer when he sought the revenge for his sister.

Months of looking through all the ways this man carefully pieced together his means of torture and decapitation had been more than enough to give him all the right ideas.

Weeks of finding the tools he planned to use easier to come across than he had imagined had been more than enough to set his plan into motion.

Days of tailing Seth Baxter had been more than enough to give him a foolproof plan in order to instill the knowledge of what should have been the proper punishment for his crimes.

Hours of putting it all together had been more than enough to give him the final, satisfied feeling that was soon to come.

Minutes of bloody panic ticking by with every swing of the bladed pendulum, counting down the mere seconds until death finally reached out and ripped the guts from his body...

It was worth it, even if it meant finding himself here. At least a bullet to the head would be quick, a pleasure that Seth Baxter never would have felt. If anything, that much was a satisfying thought. Justice was served.

"They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," the voice continued, the scathing monotone not releasing the chill of fear that had taken hold of Hoffman's body, cutting down his spine, quickening his breaths no matter how much he tried to hide it. He knew where John Kramer was going with this. There could be no other reason he'd face him directly, rather than show him the correct way to initiate a game. "But I find it somewhat distasteful, to be given credit for work that's not mine."

It was no surprise that John Kramer followed the papers. He had to find his victims some way. Those who sinned and sinned well, those who gained in exchange for the blood of the guilty and the innocent alike; none of them would escape his radar. He and Hoffman were alike, in a way. They never left a stone unturned when it came to business.

"...especially inferior work."

Had it been inferior work? Hoffman had never found himself doing anything inferior as far as his undertakings were concerned. This was an established truth.

The trap was immaculate. The victim woke in fear, the same fear he instilled on others... on Angelina.

Hoffman made it a point to make the collar around his neck tight. It would be as cold as the blade that slashed through his sister's throat. He made it a point to lock him down to the cold metal slab, immobile for his purpose. It would be the same feeling of helplessness his sister felt when he overpowered her. His hands would be crushed to dust. They were just as responsible as the knife was that had caused every moment of pain and fear to be incurred. The blade had been the best part of the trap. It was every bit of horror that had sealed his sister's fate, only a hundredfold. It was most certainly justice.

Justice was inescapable. It was what he worked for.

"Like you, I know what it's like to lose family." It was hard for Hoffman not to tremble at that. How easy had it been for him to figure out every detail of his self-righteous vengeance? Those who worked with him for years had never suspected a thing...

"I know what it's like to not be able to protect loved ones. It's a powerless feeling." Hoffman pulled at the ties that bound him. He would never consider the thought that he was really anything like this sadistic madman. No, his revenge was over with. The blood on his hands would be the only satisfaction he needed.

The thoughts that John Kramer was trying to fill his head with were insane. Hoffman, having a shotgun pointed at him, ready to go off at the slightest movement, knew this was a sick way to give someone a "chance" to redeem himself. He didn't truly know him.

Right?

As John Kramer listed off his own research of the semblance of life Hoffman had been living, the shotgun to his head suddenly became less important. As if he had been allowing all the pieces of the puzzle to snap in to place, within seconds, Hoffman's life of despair, drinking, hatred, and thoughts of revenge all fit together to show an exact picture of what he had become. Like his own reflection before him, he couldn't help but look at the bleak and miserable picture as it truly was.

The offers of redemption were sordid. John Kramer knew that the man before him was not a true killer, yet to ask him to be an apprentice to his methods of rehabilitation was something that Hoffman could only begin to fathom. That line had already been crossed, hadn't it? He did it once without being found out and for the sake of his own life, he could most certainly do it again.

He couldn't argue the fact that the games proved that those without regard for their own lives as well as the lives of others were finally exposed to the same pain they bestowed upon the world. Having them play would be the only way they would ever learn. It wasn't as though those in his profession found themselves with a lack of murders throughout the city. They were the ones that put the murderers back on the streets.

"How would your sister feel?"

Those without regard for the law should suffer the same way their victims did. Without the help of Jigsaw, he regarded that much as truth. If only they could all learn...

"We're at a crossroads, detective. Make your choice."

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank Dizmo enough for her work as a hippo. She most certainly saved me from a whole lot of stress by helping me polish this piece so that it may glisten wondrously for your reading pleasure. You rock my socks! Also, a big thank you goes out to my good friend, Laura for adding in her thoughts. You are awesomesauce, banana buddy!


End file.
